Spare a Thought For Me
by meginmd
Summary: A retelling of POTO set in modern day. I suck at summaries. Also, my title is in progress.
1. Chapter 1

_~Prologue~ _

_The building that once housed the world-renowned Branson Dance Company was now in shambles. Once grand, it was now empty and forgotten. Nearly thirty years ago, a terrible fire had gutted the building. The cause was still unknown; most attributed it to faulty wiring in the building. But some knew better. They spoke of an "Opera Ghost", a man that had lived in the basement and secret caverns of the building. Today, however, a few people straggled into the building: today was the day of the public auction. A black limousine pulled up, stopping in front of the building. A man jumped out of the limo and opened the door, allowing a gray-haired man to make his slow exit from the car_.

_This man was Richard Crews, the CEO of Chagny Enterprises. He stared unhappily at the opera house, reflecting on the terrible things that had happened there. He walked slowly into what was once the grand opera stage, where the auctioneer was finishing up a sale: an old poster for a musical. It sold quickly, and Richard waited. He had come for one reason: to buy an old music box that had been described to him. It was made of mahogany, with twin music notes on the top that chimed when the box was wound. _

_ As the auctioneer ended a sale of props, the porter came out with the music box. As he gazed at the box, he became aware of eyes on him. Looking around, he saw an old woman: it was Mrs. Greene, whom he had known in happier times. He barely nodded in recognition, and she too tipped her head._

_ "Item 665, then. A mahogany music box. It was discovered in the depths of the opera house and is still in working order," the auctioneer said. "Do I hear twenty?"_

_The bidding war began, with Richard bidding against Mrs. Greene. He won the box, and the porter handed it over to him. He fingered the details, sadness enveloping him. _

_ "It's exactly as she said," he mused. "Will you still work when we have all passed?"_

"_Lot 666, then. This chandelier once graced this opera room. Many believe it was the cause of the fire. Most of you will recall the strange events of that time and the man they called the phantom of the opera. This mystery continues to baffle us even today. However, we have had the chandelier expertly repaired. Perhaps we can shed some light on this mystery. Gentlemen?" _

_Richard blinked as the chandelier lit up, restored to its former glory. As it did, all the memories of that time period came rushing back. Things he'd rather leave forgotten. _


	2. Part Two

(A/N: I tried to write it differently, but did incorporate some of the song lyrics in _Phantom _into my story. Some aspects of the story I changed. )

_She stood in the knee-deep water, tears coursing down her cheeks. Before her were two men: one hideously disfigured, the other handsome, with a rope around his neck. She slowly moved toward the disfigured man, the pain and love in his eyes causing her heart to ache. As she moved towards him, she slid an engagement ring on her finger._

"_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?" she mused. "God give me courage to show you you are not alone!"_

_She kissed the man, letting go after what seemed like an eternity. As the three stood there, frozen, the shouts of an angry mob reached their ears. The disfigured begged them to leave him, and they hurried to the boat. The woman paused, then slowly made her way back to the crying man. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain._

"_Christine, I love you," he sang brokenly. She placed the engagement ring in his palm, folding his fingers around it. She looked back at him one last time, then joined the other man in the boat. Together, they slowly paddled off. The mob began to climb down the portcullis, only to find the lair empty. _

I woke with a gasp, my cheeks stiff with tears. Again, I was left with so many questions: Who were the men? Who was Christine? Why had she left the man who loved her? Who was the guy on the boat? I sighed. Every time I had that dream, I woke up with tear-covered cheeks and a feeling of absolute heartbreak. I sighed again and got out of bed, readying myself for another day at Branson Dance Company. I was a ballet dancer; always had been. I'd come from a very artistic family: my mother had been a fantastic singer and my father a world renowned violinist. I had come to the BDC when I was eight, after my father and mother had died in a car crash.

When I arrived at the BDC, I had been taken under the wing of Mrs. Greene, the ballet instructor. Her daughter, Margaret, and I had become fast friends. Now, eight years later, we were both members of the dancer corps. I glanced at the full length mirror as I pulled my hair into a bun. Again, a wave of heartsickness washed over me, but I ignored it. _Silly nonsense, _I told myself as I hurried down to the theatre. _Just a particularly powerful dream. _

"Come on, Charlotte," the familiar voice of Maggie said from behind me, "We must hurry or we're going to be late." We hurried down the spiral cast iron stair case. All around us was activity: dancers argued and practiced, stagehands pulled ropes and moved scenery, seamstresses fixed costumes. Right in the middle of center stage was the star of the show: eighteen year old Cecilia. We all called her La Diva behind her back; her ego was well known throughout the BDC. As we hurried across the backstage area, the activity pushed aside my feelings of melancholy, filling me with excitement.

"Charlotte Danson! Margaret Greene! Are you not dancers?" I heard Mrs. Greene shout as she spied us.

"Yes," we shouted in unison, raking our places on stage. The orchestra started up, and we began to practice. As we were rehearsing, the owner of the BDC, Mr. Wilson, came on stage, followed closely by three men.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have you attention please," he shouted over the din. We stopped, and Mr. Wilson continued. "For some weeks rumors have gone around that I am retiring. I am sad to say that, after many years, I am in fact retiring." He paused. "These two men behind me—Mr. Anderson and Mr. Foster—are the two gentlemen who now own the Branson Dance Company."

The taller one, Mr. Foster, stepped forward. "Thank you. I'd like to take this moment to introduce a man whose family has supported BD for many years: Richard Crews."

I gasped. "Richard?"

Richard stepped forward. "It is an honor to support the BDC and art in all its forms. I look forward to the performance tomorrow night."

"May I introduce Cecilia Gonatta, who has been our lead soprano for the last four years," Mr. Wilson said. Cecilia smiled at Richard, and I rolled my eyes.

"I'd also like to introduce our other amazing singer, Uriah Peters."

"Perhaps Cecilia would grace us with preview of the aria in tomorrow night's performance?" Mr. Foster said.

"If she insists, "the maestro, Roberts, said.

"I insists," Cecilia said with false modesty.

I rolled my eyes at Maggie; we both knew that Cecilia never missed an opportunity to sing. Roberts merely smiled and picked up his baton. The song began, and we listened as La Diva sang. Margaret nudged me and I fought off an urge to giggle. Cecilia had been at the BDC since she was ten. At fourteen, she'd beat out several older women for the role of lead soprano, the youngest woman ever to have that honor. She finished the song, and everyone clapped. After a quick conversation with La Diva, the two new owners left, followed by Richard, sweeping past me.

"He didn't recognize me," I said softly.

"Who?" Maggie asked.

"Richard. The new patron," I replied.

"You know him?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "We grew up together in the city. We were childhood sweethearts."


End file.
